The Misery of Montresor
by FancyUsername
Summary: Montresor has quite a bit of bad karma. First, his businesses fall into the toilet, then he's being bed by a man, and then he even manages to catch a bad case of Stockholm syndrome for the very man who he must now call "Master". He just can't help but think that he deserves it. For Edgar Allen Poe's "Cask of Amontillado", made to dream up Montresor's motives. Tw: Rape, torture
1. Trading Souls

Darkness enveloped the night, eating its way to the edges of a single kerosene lantern bouncing hazardously next to a penniless, but forcibly well-dressed, carriage driver. Montresor sat inside the lonely cart, accompanied only by the click-clacking hooves of a lone, off-white Clydesdale. He sat in a silent state of melancholic panic- his business-acquaintance, Fortunato, had summoned him unexpectedly. Never mind the summons, the sleep-deprived wine-taster hadn't expected to be told to arrive in the dead of night.

Anxiety gnawed at Montresor's gut. He had recently been facing insurmountable debt, encroachment of bankruptcy, and worst of all: the threat of all of the secrecy coming unraveled, ruining him. Knowing Fortunato, the fool would try his best to capitalize off his misfortune.

Montresor was still in a hypnotic state of distress as the carriage ground to a creaky halt, and the carriage driver unlatched the side door to let his master out. Dim rays of light pierced the miser's gloomy tomb. Successfully roused from his trance, but no less conflicted, Montresor's expression hardened under the gaze of his subordinate and he made his reluctant way to the looming mansion in front of him.

Lit sconces lining the stone fortress illuminated the courtyard like blinding floodlights, scouring the grounds for those unworthy to tread within its bounds.

Failing to face the fire's challenge, the once-wealthy man hung his head and slunk inside.

"Good evening, sir!" An exhausted servant exclaimed and flamboyantly ushered him inside. Montresor sulked past the scrawny, heavily scarred, blue-eyed boy and into the castle in silence. The subordinate deftly slid in behind him before taking the lead and wordlessly showing him to his master's office.

An impossibly-daunting oak door stood before them. With the servant's quick flick of the wrist and a flourish, the debtor was thrust into the office and into a world he could never quite escape.

The solid door sealed with a _click_ behind Montresor.

"My friend,"

Dark, purring, and predatory, Fortunato's voice called out from behind a sprawling, expensive desk.

"Come in, take a seat!" The wealthier motioned to a plush armchair opposite of himself.

So, he did.

' _I don't have time for games.'_ The miser concluded. "Why have you summoned me here, Fortunato?" He confronted.

A low growl responded, "You think I don't know? You truly are a fool."

Suppressed terror edged its way into Montresor's heart. He dared not respond for fear of breaking his composure.

"I have a proposition for you." The businessman hissed. "I have what you need to revitalize your business. To save yourself from being ruined, I am your only option."

The debtor scoffed. "How can you be so sure?" He lashed, fear tinging the corners of his voice.

"Don't play games with me." Fortunato spat. "This is my proposition,"

The lesser man squirmed in his seat as the greater leaned forward. "In exchange for the goods, services, and financial aid you will receive," The businessman began,

"I request one servant to be delivered to my dwelling, at midnight, once a fortnight, indefinitely."

Surprise, then curiosity, then rage overpowered Montresor's fear. _"What?"_ He exclaimed, "What am I to you, a maid recruiter?"

Calloused hands shot from the opposite end of the desk, grabbing the lesser's collar, pulling him out of his chair and sending him floundering onto the marred surface antique desk. Fiery eyes glowered into his own. Inches from his own face, Fortunato snarled. "No, you're a pathetic businessman on the verge of bankruptcy."

Montresor was slammed down onto the desk by his collar.

"Now do as you're told, debtor." The greater commanded, and shoved him back into the guest's chair. Still, ruffled, and shaken, Montresor crumpled up in the armchair.

"Consider it done." A defeated murmur finalized.

In the following months, business increased greatly. Montresor attributed this to his new business partner's contributions. Once a fortnight, as was agreed, a servant was delivered to Fortunato's castle in the dead of night. Neither head nor tail was ever seen of these servants again, but their disappearances never bothered their previous master. What _did_ bother the nouveau-riche was that servants were not cheap- and his bank account was feeling the burden of routinely purchasing new staff.

One year, he concluded. By the agreement's first anniversary, his coffers would be stable enough to break off the shady deal; Montresor was quickly tiring of losing his most trusted servants.

The duo rarely met face to face, and such meetings were unplanned. Fortunato's aura of power and dominance intimidated his partner to this day. The less wealthy man's unease, he knew, was justified; Montresor did his best to avoid Fortunato and his rough handlings. They never once spoke of their deal, nor the servants provided, nor either's finances. The once-debtor had decided that fateful night that the less the two interacted, the better.

And yet... He truly did wonder what became of his servants once they entered the stony prison.

The ground grew icy, then thawed, then blossomed, and finally sweltered in summer heat. And in the oppressive heat of the summer, Montresor's finances and reputation had finally escaped the threat of collapse. And in this heat, a fortnight came, and a fortnight passed, until a month had slipped away and no servants had been delivered to the stony castle. Montresor was not troubled by breaking his word, and seldom thought of his partner.

Unburdened by his current situation, the wealthy man took a stroll once the sun had set, accompanied by only a kerosene lantern. He patrolled his vast grounds and took in the scenery his marvelous landscaping crew slaved over.

Further in his walk, Montresor came across a strange sight.

An orchard of sapling trees sat, neglected, in an untended area of the lawn. The businessman counted twenty-six in total, all of varying sizes. Was this a new project the groundskeepers were working on?

Upon closer inspection, peculiar letters had been carved into the tree trunks. Some had two letters, others three, still others four. The wine-taster ran his fingers gently over the scarred bark of a young birch tree and pondered its meaning.

Curiosity prompted Montresor to dig. So, at the foot of a miniscule birch sapling, he rolled his cuffs, kneeled in the dirt, and tunneled into the earth. The man shoved aside worms and larvae. He dislocated handfuls of soil. He ripped up roots and stones. And then, he came across something large and solid. Hooking fingers through openings in the object, he tugged it out from beneath the ground, and came face to face with a rotting, human skull.

Shrieking indignantly, Montresor lobbed it haphazardly across the lawn. He looked down at his slime-coated fingers, shaking off maggots and eyeball-gunk. The smell of corpse and earth stunk so highly that the businessman knew it would never leave him.

Slowly, marginally, he inched towards the skull. As he loomed over it, maggots chewed the still-rotting fleshed, and worms slithered inside the gunk within. Montresor blanched. If there was a corpse underneath _every_ sapling, then...

A dark purr. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

An iron pipe was hoisted into the air and swung heavy-handedly, and then, everything was black.


	2. Torture

A clanking. A rustling of fabric. An oppressive mugginess. A horrible throbbing.

Montresor came to slowly.

 _'Where am I...?'_ He thought with a groan.

Attempting to bring a hand to his pounding head, he found he couldn't move at all. Panic consumed the wine-taster, and he began to struggle against his restraints, causing the confined room to be filled with the jingling of metal chains.

A small chuckle came from the corner of the room.

Montresor froze. For the first time, he truly looked and saw. He was bound to a heavily marked wooden table. Brick walls and uneven stone floors contained him, shelves and chests lined the walls, and a remarkably out of place, elegantly plush armchair sat in a corner of the room. And in it, sat Fortunato.

Montresor tried to summon his voice. Instead, he could only manage terrified whimpers. The previous chuckle readily expanded into a hearty guffaw.

"..W...Wha-" He began.

"You're mine." The man cut him off. "You've broken your word. Now you're mine."

Fortunato's glowing eyes locked onto his captive, stealing Montresor's breath in such a way that he didn't dare attempt to breathe. The captor slowly rose from his elegant throne and padded unhurriedly to his prey. Inching uncomfortably close, he pulled himself right beside his subject.

A rough hand snatched Montresor by the hair and pulled his head up so that he was eye-to-eye with the squatting Fortunato. "You're going to pay for depriving me." He growled. Montresor's head was slammed back onto the wood, his hair released. Dazed, his groggy eyes managed to make out his captor sulking over to one of his many chests.

"What do you want from me?" He demanded, finding his courage, "Release me!"

Fortunato answered simply as he rummaged seemingly aimlessly through a trunk. "No."

The captive snarled resentfully. "You shall release me! I'll rain hell upon you and your name!"

Fortunato looked on with a bemused gaze and walked back as Montresor continued. "By God, I swear I'll have your head! What did you do to my ser-"

A harsh smack reverberated through the small room, as Fortunato savagely struck his captive across the face with a strip of leather.

"Silence!" His booming voice commanded. And Montresor was quiet.

 _"You,"_ he spat, "are _mine._ I will keep you here as long as I please, do with you as I please, abuse, use, and torture you as I please. And if you have anything more to say about it, please, be my guest. I'd love to shut you up."

Fortunato slithered closer and hissed straight into the man's ear, sending chills shooting down the lesser's spine. "This won't be the only time. Oh no, you're mine forever, Montresor. You're too pretty to kill."

Rough hands caught Montresor by his collar, and the addition of a precariously-sharp knife sent the _riiiiiiiiip_ of fabric to fill the stagnant air of the room. Initially, he fought to delay his increasing nakedness as his captor cut away his clothing. Four more harsh strikes of leather on skin were all it took to subdue him.

When the work was finished, eyes beaming with excitement perused Montresor's naked body. It was unmarred; no sight of scars or previous abuse fed the growing fire in Fortunato's gaze.

"Virgin flesh." A delighted purr noted.

Gelid, sharp metal rushed to the captive's neck, pressing down on the skin just lightly enough to illicit a trickling stream of blood that created winding paths onto the wooden table. Montresor's terrified whimper did nothing to stop the flow.

Delicately, the crimson blade was lifted to the free man's lips. Slowly, surely, Fortunato's tongue stroked from the bottom of the metal to the very tip, his predatory gaze locked onto his victim as he tasted the liquid.

A carnivorous chuckle left the larger man. "I think you'll do quite nicely."

His back was turned to his captive once more. Blood still flowed freely from Montresor's throat, the gash stinging fiercely as his eyes flooded over. Cry as he might, his helpless whines only caused a pleased smile to decorate the other man's face.

Calculating fingers trailed the many shelves of the room. In them, sat rows of well-loved toys, and with much internal debate, Fortunato settled upon a horsewhip. The naked man watched with a terrified gaze as the greater returned with the instrument in his hands.

"For starters," He began far too casually, "When you are here, you may not speak. You may not plead, you may not object, but you may scream." Terror faded into horrified understanding in his captives eyes, egging him to continue. "You will only speak when spoken to. You will do exactly as I say, exactly when I say it. You will not attempt to resist me. I am your master, and if you break these rules, I will punish you accordingly."

An indignant lament came from the chained man. "You are not my master! Relea-"

The cruel crack of the horsewhip against Montresor's face silenced him. "That was your first and only warning." Fortunato growled through a mouthful of teeth.

Red and inflamed, the anger in his captive's cheek matched the rage boiling inside of him. Hatefully, he snarled, "I will ruin you."

Eager hands latched tightly around the lesser's wounded throat. Choking on the obtrusion, he fought against his attacker to no avail, but still managed to thrash and reopen the laceration on his neck.

Dizziness ate away at Montresor's consciousness. His captor chuckled with enjoyment, watching the fight leave his victim. "It's always so amusing when they're new. So animated and full of life." Unyielding fangs caught the choked man by the ear and bit down hard, but he could not so much as protest. "Unfortunately, you've broken another rule by resisting me."

Blood dripped lackadaisically from the bite mark on Montresor's upper ear. The wealthier man released his vice grip on his throat, causing him to sputter and choke as he tried to gasp for air. Gradually, the world came back to him. The crinkling of fabric on fabric roused the lesser from his trance-like state of oxygen deprivation. Wobbling haphazardly in front of him, his vision focused hazily on his captor.

Fortunado was taking his clothes off. Unlike his captive, his flesh was littered with tell-tale scars. Part of Montresor didn't speak because he couldn't breathe properly, part of it didn't speak because Fortunato had told him not to, but despite his muted state, unabridged fear coursed through his body and mind.

Quiet skin-on-skin slapping permeated the shell the chained man was trying to drag himself into. "What's my name?" A gruff, strained voice asked. The lesser didn't answer.

Fortunato loomed over him, his spare hand that shamelessly stroked his erection coming into view. Taking his victim by a handful of hair, he raised his plaything's head to meet his famished gaze. "I said," He snarled, _"What's my name?_ Think carefully, but don't strain yourself."

Between heavy swallowing and trembling lips, Montresor surrendered, "Master."

A pleased grin widened to fill the greater's face. Patronizing praise slipped from his lips. "Very good. Perhaps I'll decide to have some mercy on you." He laughed heartily as if it were a joke.

Soon, two more lengths of chain were fetched. One was secured around each of Montresor's quivering thighs before being secured to a sturdy notch fixed to the underside of the table. With his prey's legs spread out wide, Fortunato surveyed his work pridefully. The lesser shook as if he were a leaf in the wind as quiet sobs racked his body. His master seemed to enjoy his display of suffering.

Disturbingly gently, the captor traced his hands over his prize's body. A testing grip here or there, a few light slaps, the drumming of fingers on skin, as he made his way from the tips of toes up to Montresor's chin. Taking hold of it between the calloused flesh of his index finger and thumb, Fortunato examined his tear-trailed face under the tremulant watch of his toy.

An unabashed sneer only served to darken the sadist's features before he crashed his hungry lips against Montresor's. Fortunato took what he wanted with vigor, exploring every nook and cranny of his newest slave's mouth with a passion that overran the other's protestingly-still tongue. Growling into the smaller man, he relished in the frightened whimper that met his sounds.

Fortunato broke the heated kiss to climb onto the table. The platform's thick legs refused to wobble, carrying both of the men's weight sturdily. It was much too small for them both- Fortunato made up for this by placing his legs in between his captive's and stacking on top of him.

Montresor's sobbing was rejuvenated, now audible, but only acted to further excite his master. Recapturing his prey's tear-soaked mouth, he sank his beloved, porcelain-white and needle-sharp teeth into Montresor's lips. The pained shriek that flooded into his mouth was absolutely delectable, accompanied by a river of ruby red. Fortunato released his hold. Sitting back with a proud gaze, he watched approvingly as the stream colored ghost-white skin.

The lesser watched defenselessly, sniveling, wounded lips trembling, as his master leaned back on his knees, leisurely stroking himself.

"So pretty." Fortunato moaned absently. Without another word to his toy, he poised himself between two immovable thighs, taking a moment to reach beneath them to squeeze and smack Montresor's perky cheeks. The crying started up again.

"You know," His master drawled contently, "I love it when you cry. It's endearing."

"Get off of me!" Montresor bawled, struggling fruitlessly against his restraints. "Stop it!"

The snickering that left the larger man was devilish. "How precious. Looks like I'll have to punish you."

 _"Please!"_ His plaything begged. A sharp hook across bloody cheeks turned the words into unintelligible weeping.

A chorus of whimpering accompanied Fortunato as he positioned himself against his captive's entrance. He observed with a sadistic smile as Montresor could only watch in dread, and as he pushed his erection inside of his prey with a cruel inching, he reveled in the tortured screams and open tears seeping from him.

"Stop! _Stop!"_ Montresor howled in agony. His master instead took it upon himself to thrust harshly deep into him, causing him to writhe and cry out.

"Scream!" Fortunato ordered. Montresor didn't need to be told twice. As his master ripped and tore his flesh, tormented screams became his only form of escape.

Mechanically, the greater pumped himself in and out of his toy, consumed in an unparalleled ecstasy. For what seemed like hours to Montresor, his master defiled him, either completely apathetic to his anguish or bent to cause it. With a final thrust, Fortunato sunk his teeth into his prize's shoulder, making him both gasp in pain and squirm uncomfortably at the sensation of his master coming inside of him.

Pulling out of his toy, he slid off of the table onto shaky feet. Swiping up a white towel folded neatly nearby, the captor wiped Montresor's blood from his body wherever it lay. He stalked back up to the table when he had finished. The traumatized man shrunk back in fear at his master's approach.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Fortunato purred sultrily into his prey's ear. Huge, puffy eyes locked onto his own, filled to the brim with disbelief. To his credit, the lesser said nothing. "Good thing I have better in store for you later." His master hissed. This time, Montresor shook his head violently, silently pleading with his master for mercy.

The larger man hummed sweetly, using his index finger to trace the wounds carved into his plaything. "I'm in the mood for a nap. Feel free to cry me to sleep." Gathering up a mouthful of saliva, he spat on his slave, and turned tail to nest into his plush armchair. With a pull of a lever, it reclined. Peaceful snoring filled the room shortly after.

Emptiness ate out a hollow cavity in Montresor's chest. Tear ducts drier than the plains of the Savannah, he let his aching head rest back against the scored wooden table. Blood pooled between his legs, bruises and gashes covered his throat, puncture wounds bit deep into his lip, and a mouthful of tooth marks burned his ear.

He couldn't help but think he deserved it.

 _If this was what my servants were subjected to, then there isn't a doubt in my mind that I deserve this,_ the desecrated wine-taster rationed.

The only thing the next three days had in store were more of Fortunato's torture. When his master finally grew weary of him, Montresor was gagged, blindfolded, and bound one final time before being hauled back to his home and dropped at his own front door. 


	3. Vanilla

Winter came early that year.

Montresor liked spend time outside, marching quietly through the frozen earth. Winter birds cried out incessantly, and for the first time, he found himself enjoying their calls. A trench coat insulated his chilled skin from the icy air, but he still felt himself frozen to the bone. With the crunch of snow beneath his boot-clad feet, and the frost of winter making its home inside him, he felt at peace.

He cherished times like this, in which he could walk and be free and unburdened. He dissociated himself from business-he let his subordinates manage that- and instead embraced life as much as he could while he was free.

It wouldn't be long, he knew, until he was collected again. He kept his mind clear and soaked in all of the joy he could, while he could. Soon, Fortunato would be back again, and the former-businessman would disappear again, as he had every fortnight for several months now. Montresor couldn't find it in himself to cry for help. He deserved this, after all.

Sins and guilt aside, he found himself almost drawn to his captor now. An on-again-off-again play that he was now a linchpin in, a seemingly endless cycle of abuse, a fatal attraction that he just couldn't seem to destroy... That was his life now. Montresor almost preferred it that way.

He hated Fortunato with his very being, and yet, he couldn't seem to live without him now. It was perplexing, infuriating, and depressing, but it was the boat the former-businessman had somehow found himself in.

Montresor once thought of himself as the master of his own destiny. He would not be topped, not in anything, but he found himself now as a slave to another. To be tortured, raped, played with, and left out to dry whenever he so much as became a passing thought in his reluctantly-titled _"Master's"_ mind.

 _How pitiful a man I am,_ he concluded.

He hoped to soon join his servants under the earth. 

It wasn't short, and it wasn't quite sweet, but it wasn't so horribly violent this time. Almost normal, this time.

 _'Almost comfortable, this time.'_ Montresor mused silently.

The lesser found himself sprawled out on a grand, luxurious bed, with Fortunato topping him. Nearby, a fireplace kept the bedroom toasty and pleasant. For once, he wasn't restrained. He was allowed to embrace his master, allowed to wrap his legs around him, allowed to squirm and whimper and squeeze his master's hand when it hurt too much to bare.

 _This is almost nice,_ he hummed in his head. The almost-gentle touch of his other didn't horrify him anymore. He found himself to almost enjoy his visit tonight.

Smooth lips pressed against his own with a softness Montresor wasn't expecting. He found himself kissing Fortunato back, their tongues swirling together sedately before they separated, his master busying his mouth in the lesser's neck. Quiet moans left Montresor, and his master ordered calmly, "Talk to me, Monty."

"I like this." He confessed blithely, surprised that he was allowed to speak. "It feels great."

"A change of pace was in order." Fortunato murmured with his head resting in the crook of his slave's neck. "Do you want me to move now?"

From underneath the larger man, Montresor sent his master a hesitant look. He wasn't used to having important opinions. "I don't know."

The man on top didn't seem particularly troubled. "Let's stay like this for a little bit longer, then."

"Thank you, Master." Montresor whispered through a trembling, nervous breath.

A pleased chuckle came from his partner's chest. "What a good boy."

The slave cocked his head in wonder, but said nothing. Pushing the new boundaries his master had set was not something he was interested in.

Calloused hands ran up and down the lesser's chest, working their way down to rub his hairless thighs-Master had ordered him to shave- before hooking an arm under each leg and pulling them up to meet his slave's chest. Montresor shifted slightly to accommodate the new position.  
"How about now?" Fortunato asked a second time. The submissive man didn't want to keep his master waiting any longer, so despite the discomfort he felt, he nodded quickly.

Without another word, the greater began with a gentleness that his prize wasn't accommodated to. Montresor clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around his master with his hands balled into fists. When there was no immediate pain, one eye opened. The other followed quickly, then his jaw relaxed, then his fists unclenched. A silent, quizzical expression made its way from the slave to the master, and once Montresor saw the amused twinkle in his partner's eyes, he relaxed some.

Months of abuse refused to allow him to fully trust his captor. With each pull out, Fortunato watched his slave flinch, whining softly on occasion. One raised eyebrow was pointed at the man underneath him. "Does it not feel good?" The master asked, somewhat offended. He had even gone out of his way to use lubricant tonight.

A direct question let Montresor speak. After a moment spent contemplating his rare words, he whispered, "I'm scared."

An eyeroll was his captor's only response, but Montresor noticed that he slowed and continued with a tenderness that, if the slave didn't know any better, he would have called caring.

 _'I wonder what's gotten into him.'_ The slave pondered, _'This can't last forever. What's he trying to-'_

Fortunato hit a spot that made his toy see stars. Montresor let out a breathy, feminine moan, writhing and panting a bit when his master thrust into the same spot again.

"Fuck!" He exclaimed in a bought of pleasure. Anxiety suddenly overcame him- he had just broken one of his master's most important rules. The grip it had on his chest seemed meaningless, however, because Fortunato simply grinned widely and pumped into him a bit harder. Montresor soon relaxed; it didn't seem like punishment was going to come.

 _Though, if he keeps this up,_ I _will._ The slave noted.

The thought managed both arouse and horrify Montresor. In their many fortnights together, he had never once been brought to orgasm in Fortunato's presence. He had never wanted to. And yet, with his master inside of him, and his own throbbing erection making itself known, the slave felt his mortification slip away thrust by thrust, until he was meeting his master's movements and moaning immodestly for him.

Desperate breaths begged, "Please, Master, _harder!"_

Fortunato caved in to his plea, ramming his slave to the point where Montresor cried out shamelessly. His master's sweaty palm found it's way onto his aching erection. Fortunato's plaything groaned as the hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him feverishly.

"Master," Montresor moaned breathily, "I'm going to-"

"Me too." An oddly quivering voice from above him cut him off, and commanded shakily, "Say my name!"

"Master!" Montresor obeyed readily, calling out as he came, _"Master!"_

Following his partner with a few more strokes, Fortunato came into him, crying out as if he and his slave had traded places. Montresor, trapped in a haze of pleasure, didn't mind the feeling for once.

Once the master had pulled out, the pair laid forehead-to-forehead for a moment longer.

 _I could get used to this._ The slave hummed to himself.

A soft kiss was pressed to his lips, and the greater stretched hard to reach a hand towel resting on the master suite's nightstand. Heavy blush painted Montresor's cheeks and he shifted his gaze as his master gingerly cleaned him. Curiosity continued to burn in the back of the lesser's mind, and before he could convince himself to keep quiet, he blurted, "Why are you doing this?"

Fortunato blinked. "Cleaning you off?"

"Being kind." He clarified.

"I already told you." The master used the opposite side of the cloth to clean himself. "We needed a change of pace." The soiled square of fabric was tossed to a corner of the room, where the maids could collect it the next day.

Montresor decided to push the subject, praying that both the boundaries and his luck wouldn't mind him stepping on their toes. "Why?"

A irritated, scrutinizing gaze was cast back at the lesser. "Would you prefer to go back to the basement?"

Panicked head shaking was his response. If he hadn't known any better, he would say that Fortunato looked regretful. "I'm joking. Relax."

For some reason, being commanded to relax never seemed to be the best way to relax; however, when the man returned, yawning and stretching out his limbs on the way, the embrace that Montresor found himself in did the trick. It wasn't a strangle hold, there was no malice, he wasn't being violated, and yet he somehow still was being held by Fortunato. He liked it, the smaller man decided.

"You smell nice." The master mumbled happily. Fingers wound absently through the lesser's hair, the grip used to delicately bring the two closer together. "Sleep." The word felt more like a fond suggestion than an instruction.

Still, Montresor felt himself being pulled under. The room was too warm, the covers too soft, the bed too welcoming, his master's hug too soothing, his afterglow too pacifying. Once the sound of Fortunato's quiet snoring filtered through the air, a sleepy Montresor was dragged into the realm of sleep.

The next morning, the master vanished elsewhere in his mansion. The slave was left with a spare set of clothes, a promise of breakfast, and a chaste kiss. Hours crept by sluggishly, early morning lethargically transforming into a reasonable hour as the sun gained some height in the sky.

As promised, a servant eventually crept in with a tray of food. The scent of warm pancakes and eggs sent Montresor's stomach growling hungrily.

"Master Fortunato ordered me to stay and make sure you eat breakfast." The servant, a young Hispanic man of maybe twenty, murmured quietly. A dubious look was shot from the slave. This was the first time that his master had provided him with real food; Montresor wouldn't in his right mind refuse it. If he was to stay here for several more days, he _couldn't_ refuse it.

"My name is Thomas." The servant disclosed as he set the tray of food on the bed. Montresor ignored the servant, choosing to choke down his breakfast hastily instead. While he sat and ate, it occurred to the slave that the servant sitting next to him was perhaps his greater. This revelation troubled Montresor deeply.

"What's your name?" Thomas inquired.

The slave paused mid-bite. If this man _was_ in fact his superior, he had no choice but to respond. Begrudgingly, Montresor drawled, "You may call me Mont." If this servant didn't know his true stature already, he didn't need to.

"I like that name." The man complimented, before questioning, " Why are you in Master Fortunato's chambers?"

Choking on his pancakes, the slave encountered a coughing fit that made him unable to answer Thomas' question.

"Okay." A certain servant chuckled, "I suppose I know, anyways." 

Montresor attempted to eat his remaining breakfast in relative peace. Unfortunately, Thomas wasn't going to make that possible.

"Are you one of the sex slaves we've been getting?"

A livid vein popped up on the slave's forehead at his superior's line of questioning. Sending an answering glare the servant's way, he set himself to scarf down the food. Thomas began to ramble endlessly, talking about past slaves, his daily life, and gossip.

Montresor didn't enjoy his cantankerous company, but he would prefer it over Fortunato's indefinitely.

During his bout of jabbering, Thomas placed a benign hand on the slave's knee, with no ill-will or thought; his intentions, however, had no effect on the toy's reaction. Jerking back quickly, Montresor pulled his knees to his chest and balled up against the headboard, the movement igniting a fiery pain in his abused entrance. His wide eyes quickly glazed over with water.

The slave had seen this many times before- Fortunato would rant on aimlessly to distract him, before suddenly coming onto him with a stunning ferocity.

"I-I'm sorry." Thomas stuttered in shock. "I didn't mean to startle you." Montresor refused to buy the servant's apology.

 _It was all a sham!_ He declared internally. _Fortunato wasn't making love to me, he was grooming me for this man!_

Trembling, the slave waited to be ripped open and savaged. He waited to be tied down, to be raped, to be stripped off whatever decency the traumatized plaything had managed to maintain.

"Mont?" A whispering voice breathed. "Are you alright?" Clenching his jaw tightly, the prey braced himself for the agony that was bound to present itself. When it didn't come, he simply balled himself tighter in distrust. "...I'm not going to hurt you, Mont."

 _He's lying._ The businessman crowed. _He's going to do it._

Minutes passed in that manner. Thomas murmured reassurances that Montresor didn't dare believe, cooed to the lesser desperately, and even attempted to pull him into a comforting hug only to be met with frightened cries, but none of his efforts saved him when the master returned to his chambers to see his favorite toy in distress.

"What in the name of hell is going on here?!" Fortunato demanded apoplecticly, his long strides eating the distance between the door and the servant.

"H-He just had a breakdown! I did nothing to him!" Thomas screeched as their master's pounded footsteps drew nearer.

Fortunato snatched the servant up by his hair, ignoring his terrified squalls, and dragged him out of the still-ajar door. The slave stuck stock-still, listening in horror as the sounds of Thomas being towed down the hallway drifted into the room. Trepidation sunk into him as a resounding _smack_ not unlike when his master slapped him sounded out, accompanied by Thomas' submissive whimpering. Yells of protest, a hearty grunt, and a series of bangs came next.

Now-sedate boot-on-hardwood slapping made its way back to the master's chambers.

"I'm sorry about that, Monty." The greater hummed as if nothing had happened. "Did that man touch you?"

Montresor's reply shook something awful. "No, Master."

"Good." Fortunato returned simply. "Take your clothes off. I'm ready for another round." 


End file.
